


Fifth Wheel

by Slumbering Sloane (Sloane)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Identity Issues, New Game Minus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:46:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21603955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sloane/pseuds/Slumbering%20Sloane
Summary: After it’s all over, Ardyn wakes to find himself in a version of Eos where the Astrals are long dead. Nothing in the world is certain, least of all how humanity might be saved from the Starscourge.That’s all well and tolerable, except now Ardyn is also a twenty-something member of the Crownsguard, gifted with a special new ability that’s arguably still a curse, and the list goes on from there.There really is no rest for the wicked.
Comments: 9
Kudos: 29





	Fifth Wheel

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Cracked](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17276621) by [avianscribe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/avianscribe/pseuds/avianscribe). 



> So I said to myself, what’s one more work in progress? 
> 
> This was inspired largely by avianscribe’s AU hopping fic. I couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if the shoe was on the other foot, though Ardyn is stuck in this one Eos.
> 
> Tags will be added as they become relevant. I’m warning you right now, it’s gonna get weird... mostly for Ardyn.

“Ardyn.”

Gladiolus Armicitia, of all people, was calling to him—and Ardyn saw no earthly reason to answer. He shifted in his sleep, letting his hat fall more squarely over his face. He was far too comfortable dozing to wake at anyone’s behest, least of all one of the _Chosen King’s_ little cadre. He was just so tired of the bunch. Of everything, really. And if anyone deserved rest, it was him.

“Hey, Ardyn.”

Gladio prodded his arm, making it impossible to go back to sleep.

“Damn it, Ardyn, I _know_ you’re awake!”

Indeed, he was, but Ardyn kept his eyes closed out of sheer spite. His hat, tipped low over his face as it was, hid the smirk that would have given it away.

“Aw, leave ‘im,” Prompto called from somewhere in the distance. “He looks so peaceful!”

Ardyn wasn’t entirely conscious enough to consider it before, but—just where the hell was he, exactly?

“Ugh, how can anyone tell when _this_ —” there was a sudden rush of light and Gladio’s hot breath. “—is covering his face?”

Ardyn sat up. It took a moment for his eyes to focus. Gladio was standing just outside the Regalia, which itself sat parked at a gas station off a quiet country road. The car’s top was down, allowing someone with Gladio’s impressive wingspan—ironic, given his eagle tattoo—to easily reach over and accost Ardyn, who sat alone in the middle of the back seat.

Ardyn looked from left to right in bemusement, noting the Regalia was slightly larger than he remembered—big enough to seat an additional passenger comfortably, for instance. The question of what he became of _his_ car briefly sprang to mind, only to be forgotten the moment his stomach rumbled. Ardyn’s hand went to it in shock. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt real hunger, but there it was—which begged the question of where ‘here’ was, as well.

He was still on Eos, that much was certain, but one not yet besieged by eternal darkness. He seemed to recall a young Verstael Besithia raving about possible alternate universes once, decades ago, but the man raved about a great many things, and Ardyn could only be bothered to pay him so much attention. Damn.

It was the middle of the day, the weather was fair, and something was very wrong— _besides_ the fact his skin wasn’t sizzling in the midday sun.

Ardyn’s fingers lingered over the texture on his vest. His nails were black, which was only the beginning. His clothes were different, too—still more or less to his taste, but different. No long coat, for one. The layers he wore instead were lighter, more reminiscent of the Lucian royal guard he loved to torment so much—complete with a skull patterned scarf around his neck. He touched it—still puzzled by the fact his fingernails appeared to be painted black—and found it was silk. Could be worse, he supposed.

And indeed, it did get worse.

His spot in the middle of the back seat put Ardyn in a prime position to catch his reflection in the Regalia’s rearview mirror. Just as he feared, he looked as young as the rest of Noctis’s merry band, with his now longer hair tied back in a loose ponytail—just like he used to wear before everything went _really_ wrong in his two-millennium long life.

Ardyn screamed. Gladio jumped back.

“Honestly, I step away for five minutes...”

Ardyn looked over to find Ignis glowering not at him, but at Gladio. The trader pointedly ignoring them in the background was evidence enough of where he had been. Of Noctis and Prompto, there were no signs, but Ardyn was willing to bet they were in the nearby diner. Good. He could only deal with so many of them at once.

“C’mon, I was just messing around!” Gladio raised his hands in surrender. “He’s done way worse to any of us in the past, and you know it!”

Ardyn winced. That came closer to the truth than he liked.

“Speaking of which…” Ignis folded his arms as he geared up for a lecture. “I’ve had quite enough of your little prank wars.”

“This wasn’t even a prank! All I did was grab his hat!”

Remembering he was still holding said hat, Gladio tossed it back into the car, where it landed just shy of its owner.

The sound of Ignis and Gladio arguing about pranks and propriety faded away as Ardyn stared at the battered old thing lying on the car seat. The hat, at least, was unchanged—precisely the same as the one he wore while claiming to be a man of no consequence—a rather regrettable black fedora. He reached out a trembling hand and picked it up. Nothing happened. Nothing changed when he put it on, either.

It was just a hat—and a bad one, at that. Ardyn didn’t know what he was expecting. Of course, escaping this nightmare, hallucination, or whatever the hell he was experiencing wouldn’t be as easy as a little hat trick—but then _where_ did he hope to escape to, anyway?

What was preferable?

Not being surrounded by the people he formerly antagonized, for one. It didn’t matter these were different incarnations, it was nevertheless like being surrounded by ghosts of misdeeds past. Not that he felt guilty. No, at the moment, he was only hungry.

Ardyn wished the party responsible for his situation—divine, infernal, or otherwise—would reveal itself. Dropping someone in the wrong universe for kicks was just the sort of thing _he_ would do, given half the chance, which made it all the more infuriating to be in a web not of his own making.

He yanked the hat off and threw it aside.

“Ardyn?”

Gladio was gone, leaving only Ignis standing by the car. He looked concerned.

“Let me see your eyes.”

“Oh, yes, of course.” The strange request briefly knocked Ardyn back into his old oily groove. “I’ll just pop them out and hand them over, shall I?”

Chief Besithia tried doing just that once—but that was in another time and place. Ardyn didn’t relish the idea of potentially encountering another version of the man in this world—Prompto excluded.

Ignis folded his arms and waited, clearly used to—and unimpressed by—his snark. Always a tough nut to crack, that one. No surprise it would be the same here. Ardyn, too curious to continue fooling around, leaned over to look him in the eyes as requested. Ignis did the same, bringing their faces uncomfortably close.

Making prolonged eye contact on demand, as it turned out, was incredibly uncomfortable, but Ardyn had endured far worse over the years than a little impromptu staring contest. Ignis hummed thoughtfully.

“It doesn’t look terribly bad at this stage,” he said, breaking eye contact at last. “I wouldn’t be too concerned. Not with _that_ , in any case.”

“Thanks, I suppose.”

“Is there perhaps something else that’s got you on edge?”

Ardyn blinked. Ignis leaned back, his glasses lenses flashing in the sunlight. The effect was a coincidence with the time of day and angle of the sun, surely.

“It’s just that I’m...” Ardyn‘s wandering gaze fell upon the damned hat once more. “Suddenly regretting my fashion choices, among other things.”

It was half-true, at least.

“I see.” Ignis plucked the fedora up from out of the seat, turning it over in his hands before giving Ardyn a significant look.

“Well, if we're being honest—” meaning ‘I know you’re hiding something but I’m not going to press it.’ Damn his eyes, always too clever by far. “I never liked this thing. I don’t know what possessed you to buy it.”

“I was in a bad place at the time,” Ardyn said, this time with total honesty.

Ignis said nothing in response, just passed the hat back, and left the rest up to him. Ardyn already knew what to do with it. He reached inward mentally and pulled, knowing the Armiger would be open to him—what surprised him was what he found inside.

Clothes. Lots of clothes. Far more than should be necessary even for an extended road trip. Ardyn refused to believe he was solely to blame when the Armiger was shared between the full retinue, but the sad fact was most of it looked like things only he would wear. Perhaps, given a chance at a normal human life, that was just the sort of person he was. It wasn’t hard to believe. Why Noctis and the others used precious magical storage space to indulge him, he had no idea.

Ardyn still missed his coat. Unlike the fedora, which was a more recent ill-conceived flourish among many interchangeable hats, the long coat was something of a ragged old security blanket to him, a constant no matter what was in fashion that season. It didn’t matter that the sun no longer burned him—he still felt smaller and exposed without it.

Ardyn clenched his hand into a fist a little too tightly, making the hat disappear in a shower of blue sparks—not his usual shade of red. He smiled ruefully as the light faded away. He really was a full-fledged member of the Crownsguard here. Joy.

He wondered what his specialization was, and cursed himself for only thinking to look at the wardrobe section of the Armiger.

His stomach growled again, louder than before.

“That’s it.” Ignis opened the car door and gave Ardyn another, far more piercing look. “We’re joining the others for lunch. And before you get any ideas, iced coffee does not constitute a proper meal—no matter how large it is.”

No more waiting in the car, then. Ardyn was _one of the gang_.

This truly was a nightmare.


End file.
